


A Few Sheets in the Wind

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For apostrophelover, who asked “Is it wrong that I really want to read a fanfic with these two both seriously tipsy, trying to interact with others while pretending they are sober? And then they should suddenly find themselves alone—in comfortable surroundings—with no possibility of being disturbed for quite some time. A girl can wish. Every time I see these gifs posted [P&J drinking champagne at the table in the Long Date], I wish again.”</p><p>Not wrong in my book. Hope you like it—this was supposed to be a drabble, and look what happened! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few Sheets in the Wind

“…And then, after all that, he dropped it!”

Jack snorted with laughter, more at the look on Phryne’s face than at her story. _She was really cute when she’d been drinking,_ he thought. He took another sip of his wine, a lovely merlot; Phryne had snagged it and the half-bottle they’d finished first, a chardonnay, off the serving table as they’d snuck away from the dining room. That bottle had also been lovely. Lovely, lovely wine. Strange, his head was spinning a little—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk this much in one sitting. But he was off duty, and he’d let Phryne drag him along to this party because… well, he wasn’t quite sure why, right now, since this type of event wasn’t exactly something he had experience with. But Phryne had asked him, and apparently, that was all he required.

“Are you even listening to me, Jack Robinson?” Phryne’s voice was mocking, and her eyes were laughing. She reached out to push a hand against his shoulder; he fell back, laughing, and she overbalanced a little. He reached up to catch her, and she dissolved in giggles, one hand clutching his shoulder and the other, barely hanging on to her wine glass, landing on his knee.

“Careful there, Phryne,” he said, his voice husky with laughter. “I don’t think your aunt would appreciate us spilling wine all over her furniture.”

“Oh, pooh,” Phryne scrunched up her nose and straightened, waving her free hand grandly. “What my aunt doesn’t know won’t hurt us.” She giggled again and took a drink of her wine, draining the glass and setting it down beside the sofa. She’d managed to get Jack alone, finally, and with his defenses down, and she intended to make the most of it. His eyes were very blue, echoing the color of his suit, and he wore a gorgeous white-patterened burgundy tie with it; she could just see the top button of his shirt, and her fingers itched to undo it so that she could get at his skin. “Now, then, Jack,” she purred, leaning in close, her shoulder pressed against his, “we’re out of wine. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?”

Jack tilted his head at her and lifted his own glass to his lips to empty it before setting it on the table at his right. Turning back to Phryne, he put his head close to hers and inhaled deeply, taking her scent into his lungs.

“Mmm, you smell good, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled, then, as if shocked at his own temerity, he sat up straight. “Er, I mean… I…” Phryne chuckled and tucked her head into the crook of his neck, her deep intake of breath audible in the quiet room.

“And you smell divine, Jack,” she said, clipping the consonant on the end of his name in a way that seemed to portray her objective. When she lifted her head, Jack’s eyes were on her lips and full of intent. Phryne let her own eyes begin to drift shut in anticipation of his kiss.

“Phryne? Where are you?”

Jack straightened away from Phryne as if he’d been burned and stood, taking two steps away from the sofa before Mrs Stanley steamed into the room. _She really did have the most damnably bad timing,_ he thought. This was the second time that she’d managed to interrupt Jack just before he was finally able to kiss Phryne Fisher.

“There you are, Phryne, my dear,” Mrs Stanley said, casting a sidelong glance at Jack before bringing her attention back to her niece. “What are you doing in here all alone? The rest of the company is in the blue parlor, and they’re waiting for you to join us.” She looked at Jack again. “And you too, inspector, of course.” Her tone was considerably less enthused when talking to Jack; he noticed it even through the haze of alcohol.

“I’m sorry, Aunt P,” Phryne said, blinking owlishly at her aunt. “We just needed a moment to digest that wonderful dinner of yours.”

“A moment?” Mrs Stanley responded. “It’s been over an hour since dinner ended.”

“Has it really?” Phryne’s voice was incredulous, and she looked at Jack, her voice wobbling slightly with laughter.

“Why, Hilly McNaster has played nearly an entire symphony on the piano, _and_ we’ve finished a full rubber of whist!”

“Oh, well,” Phryne said, glancing at Jack, “I don’t play whist, Aunt P. And I didn’t think you—your friends would notice if we just slipped away to… to discuss a case.” She pressed her lips together. Jack thought it was to stop herself talking; he forced himself not to laugh at the thought. Phryne was generally a good liar, except for her intonation—he could always tell when she was prevaricating because her voice got higher.

“Nonsense.” Mrs Stanley’s voice was dismissive. “Of course we noticed. And Davis Whitcomb in particular noticed your absence. I think he’s quite taken with you.” She glanced suspiciously between Phryne and Jack. “He’s the heir to the Whitcomb Shoes fortune, you know, very eligible.”

“I don’t need a matchmaker,” Phryne let out a small huff, but she stood up anyway. “I have plenty of money of my own, thank you, and I don’t need some chinless rich boy to support me.”

“Phryne!” The horror in Mrs Stanley’s voice was unmistakeable.

“It’s true!” Phryne said, meeting Jack’s eyes and leaning toward him to whisper conspiratorially, “He really has no chin.” Her eyes twinkled, and he found himself smiling back at her.

“I remember,” he said, leaning forward himself. “I saw him at dinner.” He’d been seated directly across the table from Phryne, likely a ploy of her aunt’s to keep him at a distance from her niece, and the boy in question had been seated beside her. He wasn’t a bad-looking young man, unfortunate jawline aside, but he was very young—no more than twenty-four—and he seemed to be relying on his fortune to bewitch women. That wouldn’t work with Phryne.

“Nevertheless,” Mrs Stanley said, bustling forward to take Phryne’s arm. “You must come join us. It’s only polite.”

“Oh but Aunt P…” Phryne’s voice trailed off, and she glanced back at Jack, her eyes flicking over his face. _Did she just look at my mouth?_ He thought, his eyes dropping to her red-slicked lips. He gave her a small, understanding tilt of the head. “Oh, all right.”

Her face was mulish as she allowed her aunt to lead her out of the room. Jack trailed behind her, only slightly unsteady on his feet, his eyes tracing her back in the silver-beaded sheath dress she wore. She glanced back at him and grinned, making a gesture with her fingers to indicate that he should keep his eyes up. He smiled at her, raising one eyebrow. With her head turned, Phryne bumped into the doorway of the parlor; she snorted out a laugh, which Jack echoed. This would be interesting.

*****

Davis Whitcomb was a terrible bore. Phryne nodded politely, knowing that her input was not required. It had been the same at dinner, when he’d monopolized her conversation while all she’d wanted was to trade flirtatious glances with Jack. _What was Aunt P thinking, trying to match me with this puppy?_ Phryne thought, taking a sip of her wine. She held out for as long as she could, but the third time he’d started a sentence with a rather pompously intoned, “My _father_ thinks—” she could no longer control the need to get away.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Davis,” she said, cutting him off, “I need to do… something. Please excuse me.” With a dazzling smile that left him stuttering, she moved away, scanning the room for Jack, and muttering. “Pretentious little… Aunt P!” Phryne stopped short, wobbling a little, when her aunt stepped into her path.

“Ah, Phryne,” Prudence said, her hands clasped together. “You remember Hilly McNaster?” She turned slightly and Phryne did see the thin woman standing behind her aunt. It struck Phryne as mildly absurd that Hilly, tall and thin, would have been so completely obscured by short, round Prudence. She struggled not to giggle.

“Of course! So nice to see you,” she said. “And how are you? Is Kip still serving as your…” she lost the word she was looking for, fumbling a little until she came up with “um, majordomo?”

“He is, yes,” Hilly said in her papery voice, “though I’ve hired another housekeeper, of course. Prudence assisted me.” She smiled wanly at her friend. To Phryne, Hilly seemed even less substantial than she had during their stay in Queenscliff, if that was possible. Phryne thought that it probably had to do with her son’s incarceration and sentence to hang—she hadn’t particularly liked Gerald McNaster, but she supposed his disgrace would grieve his mother. She remembered, with a mild disgust, how Gerald had tried his hand at seduction when she’d been at Queenscliff. In hindsight, that seemed rather more calculated than she’d originally thought it was. Not that she’d been tempted—if she’d been going to seduce anyone that weekend, it would have been Jack, who had looked utterly delicious in his bathing costume, and when he was sitting in her bedroom, and all wet after their dunking in the surf… she smiled slightly, remembering.

Phryne realized that she’d been quiet for too long, and both her aunt and Hilly were looking at her oddly. She cast around for where the conversation had left off. _Oh, right,_ she thought, _new housekeeper._

“I hope the new housekeeper is treating you well,” she managed. She glanced up, seeing Jack standing against the mantel on the far side of the room. He was watching her, drink in hand, and smirking. “It was lovely to see you,” she said with a smile, moving away. She stopped a uniformed staff member long enough to trade her empty wineglass for a full one of champagne off his tray, then headed purposefully toward her partner.

Jack had been covertly watching Phryne since they’d come back into the parlor. He was still muzzy-headed from the wine, and though he cradled a glass of whisky, it was mostly for show. Although Prudence did serve very good whisky. Maybe he’d just drink it slowly. Savor it, like he wanted to savor the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher. He smiled a little, watching her and thinking about how he would like this evening to end—with the two of them naked in her bed.

When the occasional party guest—usually female—would approach him, he would do his best to politely engage in conversation, enunciating carefully so that his inebriated state would be less obvious. He thought he’d aquitted himself rather well, though most of them hadn’t stayed very long. Perhaps they thought him dull. He took a sip of whisky. Well, he was rather dull when it came down to it, though Phryne didn’t seem to think so. His smile turned wicked. He’d love to show her how not-dull he could be.

“Oh, _Detective Inspector_!”

He turned his attention back to the woman standing beside him. She tittered, laying her hand on his arm, and he wondered whether he’d actually said something funny in his inattention. He thought she’d said her name was Martha. Or was it Maria? He couldn’t remember. “It must be so _thrilling_ to be a _police officer_.” Martha/Maria was an older woman, her trim figure encased in a gown almost as form-fitting as Phryne’s, and Jack mused that she probably had plenty of men who would appreciate it; he was unsurprised to find that his interest was purely aesthetic. His eyes wandered back to Phryne as he absently took another sip of his whisky.

“Tell me, now, have you ever _fired a gun_?” She squeezed his arm and stepped closer, her voice dropping to a lower register. Jack thought she was reaching for a seductive tone, but he found the woman’s vocal rhythm to be particularly irritating.

“Mmm,” he nodded, remembering a few times in recent months when he’d fired a gun in defense of Miss Fisher. He smiled a little.

“ _Surely_ it’s not an _amusing_ thing, dealing with the _criminal element_!” But the woman seemed to think that he was smiling at her, and she ran her hand up his arm and over to his back, bringing it to a stop at his waist. She gave a theatrical shiver. “I _swear_ , I just get _chills_ thinking about it,” and she stepped a little closer, her hand at his waist drifting lower.

Jack jumped a little and stepped away, leaving her groping hand hovering in midair. He cleared his throat, aware that his eyebrows had risen in shock.

“Yes, well, I am glad that the Victorian Police Force can—” he stopped himself before he said _be of service_ , as he rather thought this woman’s idea of his service would not be what he intended, “—can make Melbourne a safer place.”

“Well, if you’d care to _inspect_ _my premises_ , please feel free to _call_ on me,” she tucked a card into his jacket pocket—thank goodness she hadn’t tried to tuck it into his trousers—and with a wink, sauntered away.

Jack shook his head a little and took another sip of his drink. He searched the room, looking for Phryne; she was standing in conversation with her aunt and Hilly McNaster and looking a little trapped. He was smirking over that thought when she looked up and caught his eye. He lifted his glass to toast her, and watched her smile and move past Mrs Stanley and Mrs McNaster.

As Phryne approached, she blinked a little woozily at him. He was alone, which astonished her. Couldn’t the other women in the room see? His good looks and obviously muscular body would have been enough to get Phryne angling to meet him if she didn’t know him already, but his intelligence—expressed in that lovely voice—would keep any woman interested. She had no idea why he wasn’t constantly swarmed.

“Why are you all alone?” She said as she came near. “There are plenty of women here—I’d think they would be all over you.” Stepping close, she turned at his side to face the room, her shoulder bumping companionably against his as she sipped her champagne.

“Are you saying that I’m an attractive prospect, Miss Fisher?” Jack’s voice was dry. He took a sip of his drink.

“Well, you’re definitely attractive, Jack,” she purred. She leaned in to nudge his shoulder with hers. He was glad he’d planted his feet—her nudge was stronger than he thought she’d intended, and he rocked a little to one side.

“I’m so glad you think so,” he rumbled. “And I had company, Martha someone—or was it Maria?” He raised his glass to his lips and raised his glass to take another sip of his whisky; he was surprised to find the glass empty. With a considering tilt of his head, he set the glass on a table and turned back to Phryne.

“Matilda Watkins?” Phryne glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “Well, I can imagine how that went. Did she grab your arse?” He snorted helplessly, unable to control it, and at the sound, Phryne’s own laugh rang out.

“How did you know?”

 _His reaction was priceless,_ Phryne thought. _Half horror, half hilarity._

“Well, she does like to, mmm, sample the men of our circle,” she said between giggles. “But unlike some of us, she’s rather blatant about it.” She realized that she was leaning into Jack now, and his hand was on the small of her back. She smiled up into his eyes. “She does, however, have very good taste in bed partners.” His eyes widened and she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, sending her into giggles again.

“If only she was the bed partner I was interested in this evening,” he choked out, “I would be all set.” Phryne’s giggles died into a soft smile, and she held his eyes.

“She’s not, then?” She said quietly, knowing the answer, and made bold by the look he was giving her.

He shook his head, his wide mouth quirking in that tiny smile.

“And did you have a different bed partner in mind, Jack?” Her words were soft, the sound of his name a caress.

“Well, I had thought… but I imagine that your aunt wouldn’t have me,” she dissolved into laughter at the thought of her aunt sending come-hither glances at Jack. He continued, his voice shaking with suppressed amusement, “so I suppose I’d have to go with my second choice.”

“How bold, Jack,” she said, her grin bright. She loved it when Jack was playful, and this was more overt than was his usual wont. “And what makes you think that your second choice, knowing that she’s your second choice, will have you?”

“Oh, do you think Hilly knows?” He couldn’t say it with a straight face, though he tried. Phryne clapped her free hand over her mouth to contain the howl of laughter that would focus the entire room’s attention on them.

They were already physically closer than they should be, if they wanted to continue to deny what she hoped would be an evolving romantic relationship. She glanced over at her aunt and skimmed the room with her eyes, to see if they had anyone’s attention. She met Matilda Watkins’ narrow-eyed gaze with a smile, but since Matilda had too many skeletons in her own closet to be one to start rumors, her attention didn’t bother Phryne. Her aunt was over by the piano, deep in conversation with a small group of her friends.

She turned back to Jack. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

Jack looked down at her. She was incredibly beautiful right now, her eyes heavy-lidded and her crimson mouth smling widely. The silver hairpiece she wore echoed the shine of her dress, and she was standing with her body pressed against his side. She’d wound one arm around his, her hand cupping his bicep, and the other hand cradled her champagne flute. They were both rather impaired, Jack knew, but he didn’t think that either of them were beyond the capability of consent. And he had wanted her for so long. So he nodded, knowing that she probably already had a plan to extricate them.

“All right then,” she said, and downed the remainder of her champagne before stepping away from him; he felt her squeeze his arm lightly before her fingers slid off. “You go now, say your goodbyes to Aunt P, then wait for me uptairs. Turn right at the top, and I’m in the second on the left. I’ll join you shortly.” She looked up at him, and he saw the desire in her eyes. He swallowed lightly, his eyes dropping to her mouth. He swayed slightly, wishing that he could kiss her now, and cleared his throat.

“Right,” he said. “Well, good night, then, Miss Fisher.” He tilted his head at her and smiled slightly before striding off toward Prudence Stanley. Finding her in a conversational group, he stepped into her line of vision and caught her eye.

“Yes, inspector?” Mrs Stanley’s voice was cordial, but distant. He didn’t think that she disliked him, particularly, but he knew she thought him to be a lower class than her niece. She wasn’t wrong about that, he supposed.

“I apologize, but I need to be going. I have an early day tomorrow.” He kept his voice calm, even as he fought a snicker, realizing that he probably would have an early day tomorrow—as he snuck out of this formidable woman’s house, having spent the night in her niece’s bed. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.” His smile was warmer than was his usual habit, and Mrs Stanley blinked a moment before she gathered herself to respond.

“Of course, inspector. It was lovely to see you as well,” she offered him a nod and a small smile of her own. He thought that she was a bit relieved to see him leaving alone, and he nodded in his turn before moving toward the door. He supposed he should feel guilty for disappointing his hostess, but he didn’t. His relationship with Phryne had been building for so long—he didn’t intend to let her aunt stand in his way a moment longer.

Gathering up his overcoat and hat, which Prudence’s efficient staff had ready for him as he exited the parlor, Jack wondered how he was going to get up the stairs. The doors to the parlor were closed, but he needed to get past Mr Cortland without drawing suspicion. How… ah.

“Mr Cortland, thank you,” he said. “Er, it is a long drive back to town—I need to use the facilities before I go.”

“Of course, sir,” was Mr Cortland’s calm reply. “Up the stairs and to your left, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jack said. “I’ll show myself out.” Nodding at the butler, he headed up the staircase to wait for Phryne.

*****

Phryne spent the next fifteen minutes wending her way around the room and doing her best to affect a slight squint of pain. She planned to plead a headache and retire to her room as soon as possible, so she was laying the groundwork and considering herself quite bright for coming up with this plan. Eventually, she made her way back to her aunt, rubbing her temple lightly with two fingers.

“Aunt P,” she began, grimacing a little. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve developed a frightful headache. Would you be terribly disappointed if I were to retire?” She widened her eyes, tilting her eyebrows to show that she really cared for her aunt’s opinion, but hoping to convey how very much she wanted to be excused.

“Oh, you poor girl,” Prudence looked her niece over, her expression concerned. “Of course you must go lie down if you’re feeling poorly.”

“Thank you, Aunt P,” Phryne said, laying a hand on her aunt’s arm. “I’ll try to come back if the headache fades, but I’m afraid I’ll most likely see you in the morning.”

“Shall I send have Cortland send up a tonic?”

“No, that’s all right. I think I just need some dark and quiet,” Phryne leaned over to press a kiss to Prudence’s cheek. Her aunt really was a dear under her gruff exterior. She smiled, hoping that it seemed wan rather than sneaky, and turned to leave.

As she moved toward the door, however, Davis Whitcomb stepped into her path, and she knew that her face reflected her dismay.

“Not leaving so soon, are we, Miss Fisher?” He lowered his head to look at her in what she thought he intended to be a seductive manner, but that she found slightly comical.

“Yes, I have an aching head. I’m going to go lie down.” She sighed a little, hoping that it came across as tired.

“You poor thing.” He reached out to run his hands from her shoulders down to her bare upper arms. “Shall I come tuck you in?” He smiled as if this should be considered a treat.

“Oh, no thank you, Mr Whitcomb,” she responded quietly, glancing down at his hands on her arms and forcing herself not to sneer. He was a guest of her aunt’s, after all. “I’ll be fine.”

“Please, call me Davis. Are you certain that I can’t…” he actually wiggled his eyebrows, and Phryne found hers rising; she suppressed a small snort. “… be of some assistance? I’m sure that I could make you feel much. Better.” He rubbed her arms again, and Phryne marveled at his cheek.

“Ah, no,” she said coolly, stepping out of his grasp. “I fear that my headaches often make me nauseated as well.” She felt her nostrils flare as she held back a laugh over his horrified look. “Good night, Mr Whitcomb.” Moving around him, she made her way out the door, which was closed behind her by a silent servant. With a nod at him, she hurried up the stairs, hoping that Jack would be there.

*****

Jack looked around Phryne’s room as he closed the door behind himself. It was the same one that they’d been in the night of her cousin’s engagement party. He hadn’t paid it much attention then, except to note that it had a bed, something he’d been trying at that point to stay away from when it came to Phryne. Now he realized that it also had a lovely settee, a large wardrobe, and a small bar. Moving to the settee, he draped his overcoat over one end and dropped his hat on the small table to one side. He hesitated for a moment before also shrugging off his suit jacket and laying it over his overcoat. Pausing again, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and pulled off his tie, then laid both out on top of his neat pile.

Loosening the buttons at his throat, he moved to the bar cabinet and took out two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey, setting them on the table on the far side of the bed. He thought that too much more alcohol would likely have unfortunate consequences, but he wanted to be prepared. Perhaps they’d want something later.

Prowling around the room as he waited, he examined the art, opened the wardrobe, and trailed his fingers across the spines of the books stacked on the bedside table. None of them would be Phryne’s, not with those titles. He wondered if she’d brought a book for bedtime, or if she’d planned to have company all along.

Musing on the idea that she’d been planning to seduce him—he found himself rather smug about that thought, actually—Jack opened the drawer to the bedside table and saw the slim black clamshell case of Phryne’s Dutch cap. He lifted the case out and opened it, curious. The case was empty, and he felt his lips quirking. Dropping it back into the drawer, he hoped that he truly was the reason she might have been so prepared this evening, but he wasn’t particularly worried about it. He’d already decided that he was ready to take whatever Phryne Fisher chose to give him.

Jack looked up as the door opened and Phryne slipped in, locking the door behind her. She turned and pressed her back against the door.

“Thank goodness that’s over,” she said with a laugh. She looked at Jack, standing in his white shirt, blue trousers, and burgundy braces beside the bed. Her mouth watered at the sight of him, shirt open down to the hollow of his throat, muscular thighs and bottom visible without the camoflaging coverage of his jacket and overcoat. She straightened and crossed to him from the door, sliding her arms up his chest and clasping her hands around his neck. Jack inhaled sharply at the feeling of her body next to his. He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her against him.

“We should probably try to stay quiet, don’t you think?” He said, dipping his head so that his mouth hovered just a breath above hers.

“I suppose so,” Phryne whispered, her eyelids dropping as she angled her head in preparation. “But we’ll see how that goes.” And she raised herself up to press her lips to his.

To Jack, it was both reminiscent of and nothing at all like the kiss at Café Replique. Her mouth was as sweet as he remembered, flavored with champagne and the vanilla of her lipstick, plus her own essence. This time, though, he held her fully in his arms, and he had no scruples about meeting her thrusting tongue with his own. His hands dropped to cup her bottom, kneading as she pressed closer, her hand tangling in his hair. His head was spinning again, the addition of her taste on his tongue acting like a shot of whisky on his system.

She pulled away slightly, reaching up to work on his shirt buttons, her hands sure. “Are you certain that this is— that _I am_ what you want, Phryne?” He heard himself say. She paused, looking up to meet his eyes.

“Oh, Jack, I have no doubts whatsoever.” She lifted a hand to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Are you sure this is what you want?”  He nodded, swallowing.

“More sure than I’ve been of anything in a long time,” he said, his voice low. She flashed a slightly shy smile and pushed her hands under his braces, sliding them down his arms to dangle at his hips. Jack raised his hands to her shoulders before realizing that he had no idea how to undo her dress.

“How does this—” he said, leaning forward to peer over her shoulder and bumping Phryne in the nose with his shoulder. She gasped, drawing back, then laughed. He grimaced, shaking his head. “Sorry!”

“Wait, wait,” she said, humor in her voice. She’d managed to get the rest of his shirt undone, and she took his hands in hers to unfasten his cuffs. When she was done, Jack shrugged off the shirt, tossing it aside before stripping off his singlet. He toed off his shoes and bent to pull off his socks as well. Phryne undid the ornament in her hair, setting it on the bedside table before turning slowly to present her back to him.

“Buttons, Jack,” she said. “But if you undo just a few, it’ll come off over my head.”

With a tilt of his head, Jack went to work, his usually nimble fingers fumbling at the jeweled buttons that trailed down the back of the dress. It seemed to take forever, but after he’d freed them down to the middle of her back, he moved to stand in front of Phryne.

“Bottom up,” she said, raising her arms high. Jack reached down to grasp the hem of her dress and lift it over her head. It was heavier than he’d anticipated, and it slipped once, falling back down around Phryne’s head and shoulders as she snorted out a laugh. With a soft curse, he lifted the dress again. This time he got it all the way off and was turning to lay it on the settee when he was caught by the sight of her. The dress fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers as he took her in. She stood before him in nothing but a bandeau-style brassiere and knickers in the palest peach, plus a garter belt and stockings that did nothing to obscure her nakedness. Jack stood frozen, his eyes devouring her pale skin and the points of her hardened nipples, visible through her brassiere.

With a smile, Phryne stepped out of her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to unhook her garters, rolling her stockings down her legs slowly, her eyes on her work. Jack licked his lips, helpless to do anything but watch. He could feel himself hardening as he watched her fingers slide down her legs, pushing the stockings before them. When both stockings had been removed, she unhooked the garter belt and stood to place all three pieces on the table beside the bed.

“Jack,” she purred, stepping close to run her hands over his chest.

“You are so beautiful,” Jack breathed as he cupped her face in his hands and brought his mouth to hers. Kissing her, he stroked his hands down to her neck then back over her shoulders to unhook the back of her brassiere. He let it fall to the floor, his hands spreading across her back momentarily, just to feel the shape of her. She felt delicate, fragile, which struck him as odd, given the sheer size of her personality. He dropped one hand to her hip and stroked the other around to her breast. She hissed a little in pleasure as his palm cupped her slight weight, his thumb running over her pebbled nipple.

She was attempting his trouser fastenings, seeming to fumble—perhaps from the drink or maybe because he was touching her breast—but she let out a soft curse and he felt a yank before the heat of her hand slipped inside to cover him through his smalls. It was Jack’s turn to hiss at the sensation now as she stroked the cotton of his smalls over his length, her fingers wrapping around him, the material constricting him just enough. Stepping into her, Jack moved her back toward the bed, stopping only when her knees hit the edge of the mattress. She sat down and scooched backward until she sat in the middle, her legs stretched out before her.

Jack met her eyes as he pushed his trousers and smalls over his hips. Phryne licked her lips as he stood, naked, at the side of the bed; her eyes raked over his rangy body, noting the definition of his chest and arms, his large cock with its slight upward curve, the muscular structure of his thighs. She’d envisioned him naked more than once, and she was pleased to see that her imaginings fell short of the reality. She breathed his name as he climbed onto the bed to join her, reaching one arm out to welcome him.

As he prowled up her body, his eyes hot, Phryne reached her other arm up as well, falling backward on the bed. She slid her hands up his arms to his head, pulling his mouth to hers; her tongue pressed hard into his as he laid himself over her. She arched against him, her breasts soft against his chest, and Jack’s hand came around to cup her buttock as he rubbed himself against the silk of her knickers. She bent her knee to press herself closer, and he moaned. His hand on her ass slid beneath the waistband of her knickers, and he pushed them down; Phryne helped, fluttering her feet to kick them off. Then she bent both knees to make a space for him to lie between them, skin to skin, his hard length nestled in her damp folds.

“Jack,” she whimpered as he began to slide himself back and forth across her clitoris, bumping the hardening nubbin with each stroke. He ducked his head to take her nipple in his mouth, first laving it with his tongue, then drawing it into his mouth to press it gently against the back of his teeth as he suckled. She gasped, and her breath became a keen; her hips began a slow counter-rhythm to the one he’d established, and he felt her grow wetter against him.

“God, Phryne,” he said as he switched breasts. “You are delicious.”

“Jaaack,” her moan was guttural, “I want you in me.” She grasped the back of his head and pulled him back up her body to her lips, taking his mouth avidly. Reaching between them, she grasped his cock and guided its tip inside.

Jack groaned as he pressed into her. He had dreamed of this moment for so long; he’d pleasured himself, pretending it was her, more times than he liked to admit. But he’d never thought that it would be like this—she was slick and hot and tight, and it felt like coming home to seat himself to the hilt inside her body. He whispered her name between kisses, feeling all of her pressed against him. Her arms wrapped around him, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other now gripping his ass. He set his elbows on the bed beside her shoulders and began to move.

“Jack,” Phryne whispered, “Jack!” She lifted her legs to wrap them around his hips, using her thigh muscles to pull him hard into each thrust. He felt divine, not too thick nor too thin, not too long or not long enough. Phryne had made something of a study of penises during the past ten years, and Jack’s was like the baby bear’s porridge—just right. His technique was good, too, his hips swinging smoothly as he stroked in and out. She caught herself wandering, then, which would not do. This was Jack, after all! She’d been waiting for this moment for ages, and she didn’t want to miss it.

Phryne raised her head, her eyes opening to watch Jack’s face. His eyes were closed, his brow creased in concentration. His mouth—that beautiful mouth—was open slightly, pulling great gulps of air into his lungs as he focused on the motions of his body. His chest and belly stroked hers, her nipples, still hard and sensitized from his mouth, slipping through the hair on his chest. Entirely in the moment now, Phryne was certain that she could feel him against every inch of her skin. She watched as his tongue licked out to moisten lips dry with breathing, and she couldn’t keep herself from stretching up to kiss him, her tongue darting out to touch his.

On an indrawn breath, Jack’s eyes opened, his mouth responding to Phryne’s even as he registered that her eyes were open and on his. He felt himself flush—he hoped he hadn’t been making ridiculous faces. He wanted this to be good for Phryne. He could feel himself falter, and he redoubled his efforts. He kissed her, sliding one hand up to support her head as he licked and nibbled at her mouth, his hips slowing as his focus widened. Phryne moaned, her arms urging him closer and her breasts pressing into his chest. She undulated her hips, rubbing herself against him, and Jack tore his mouth from hers to concentrate on his rhythm between her legs.

On a groan, he planted his knees between her thighs and rose up above her. He cupped a hand under one of her thighs and urged that leg higher, hooking her knee over his shoulder. Phryne watched him, her hands drifting to cover her breasts and pinch her nipples as he began to thrust again. She arched her back, helping him change the angle of his approach until it was exactly right; she slid one hand down between her thighs to find her clit, her fingers exploring its sensitive surface. Jack, eyes half-closed as he worked himself into her, felt a pleasurable tightening in his belly as he watched her touch herself. She was writhing on the bed now, her breath coming heavily, and Jack slid his hand down her thigh to press his fingers next to hers on her slippery clit.

With a keen, Phryne came, her orgasm flashing through her, her legs spasming against Jack’s back and pulling him hard into her body. Her neck arched back and her beautiful face contorted with pleasure, and Jack was overcome at the sight. He came hard, her name groaning from his throat, his hips pressing into hers, and his back bending forward until his forehead almost brushed her chest.

When they both could think again, they found themselves curled together, Jack lying partly on top of Phryne, his head at her breast.

“Well, Jack Robinson,” Phryne said at last, her voice breathless.

“Well, Miss Fisher,” he replied hoarsely, stroking his hand up from her belly to cup her breast, his finger and thumb idly playing with her nipple.

“If I’d known that all I had to do to have my way with you was ply you with enough drink, I’d’ve done it a long time ago.” Her laugh was quiet, and she stroked her fingers tenderly through his hair.

“Mmm,” he said, turning his head slightly to lay a kiss against her breast where his head rested. “I wasn’t ready before.”

“And now?” She purred, reveling in the feel of his fingers and his lips.

“Now,” he lifted his head to meet her eyes, his smile contagious, “I’m ready.”

And he fitted his mouth to hers before showing her—again—just how ready he was.


End file.
